


Sanctuary

by elliex



Series: Sanctuary Sequence [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker, S09, plays off spoilers from 9x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:03:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the SPN Prompt "Secret Spaces."</p><p>Dean's room is his only sanctuary from the sins that haunt him. But his secret spaces are more than just brick and mortar - They're flesh and spirit, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

+

Dean carefully closed his bedroom door; the latch dragging across the strike plate and slotting into place. 

The mechanical precision of the sound struck like a blow, and Dean sagged against the door before sliding to the floor. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his forehead against his knees. 

He couldn’t hold back any longer, and he shook with silent sobs. 

+

He had tried to reason with Ezekiel – after all, Dean and Sam had just raced across two states to save Cas. 

And Dean had promised Cas, assured him that the bunker was his home.

“He can still hear angel radio,” Ezekiel intoned. “I did not realize this, and it is a risk we must not chance. What will you do if Castiel tells Sam of my presence? Or if he accidentally alerts another angel to my possessing your brother?”

Dean had cringed at Ezekiel’s use of “possession.” That’s what it was, he knew, but he hated the word. 

“How is Sam doing?,” Dean asked. “Is he getting better?”

“Slowly, yes,” Ezekiel responded. “There is still much to be done. He cannot survive without me.” Ezekiel paused a moment before continuing, “I feel Sam waking, Dean. I will go for now, but remember, Castiel must be gone before I wake again.”

Dean nodded in miserable agreement. As if on cue, Sam’s body sagged, and Dean caught him in his arms.

“You okay, Sammy?,” he asked, unable to hide the hitch in his voice. 

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm for leverage and steadied himself. Dean held on tightly.

“Yeah – uh, what happened?,” Sam asked.

“You got woozy again,” Dean said. “How are you feeling?”

Sam rubbed his forehead. “Fine, I think. I'll be glad when these stupid fainting fits stop.” He pulled away from Dean’s hands and assessed his brother. “You look like hell,” he said bluntly. “How are _you_ feeling?”

“Same as always,” Dean said quietly, moving away from his brother and picking up the grocery bags from where they’d been dropped. “Let’s go in,” he said.

+

They’d not even had two days together before Ezekiel had made his demands, barely just 45 hours of Cas being _home_ –

of Cas sitting across the table –

of Cas's laughter echoing through the bunker - 

of Cas’s warmth pressed against his body – 

 

Dean leaned his head back against the door and stared at the ceiling of his room.

_What had he done?_

The question echoed through the hollow that once was his heart.

+

Ezekiel had waited until Dean and Sam were alone. The brothers were walking in from the garage, bags in hand, and arguing over who should be the next Batman.

Suddenly, Sam was gone, and Dean was with Ezekiel. 

Dean Winchester was a lot of things, and not all of them were “good.” Of this, Dean was well aware. But one thing he wasn’t? He wasn’t stupid. 

As soon as Ezekiel insisted that Castiel had to go or else, a terrifying certainty trickled down Dean’s spine. 

Whatever was vesseled inside _his_ Sam was one cold son of a bitch. 

Dean had well and truly fucked himself _and_ the two people he loved most. He knew that without a doubt now.

 _Is there a special place in hell for people like me?_ , he wondered.

Who was Dean kidding? He knew there was. 

He’d carved that monument in Hell out of blood and tears and flesh all by himself.

+

Dean had waited until Sam had gone to bed before joining Cas on the sofa. His friend was watching a marathon of _Law & Order_ and eating popcorn. 

“Having fun?,” Dean asked, stretching out so that his left leg touched Cas’s. The point of contact jolted something inside of him – something that wanted more but didn’t know how to ask and that certainly didn’t deserve. 

“Briscoe is very entertaining,” Cas remarked, passing Dean the popcorn bowl.

“Yeah, he’s my favorite character on this stupid show,” Dean said, grabbing a handful and shoving the butter-saturated snack into his mouth. He avoiding looking directly at Cas, and his friend finally picked up the remote and turned the television off. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked. 

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face and took a deep breath. He jerked when he felt Cas’s hand tentatively lay on his thigh, but Cas didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?,” Cas asked again. 

“You – uh – you can’t stay,” Dean blurted out. He forced himself to look at Cas then, to _see_ what his shitty choices were doing to the people he loved. The shock on the other man’s face killed something inside of Dean. 

“Cas, I’m sorry –”

“No,” Cas said, waving off Dean’s apology. “I understand,” he said, giving Dean a small smile. The hunter tried not to see the quiver of Cas’s bottom lip. “Of course I need to leave. It’s too dangerous for you and Sam if I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Dean said softly, staring at the floor, biting his lip as Cas’s hand lightly squeezed his thigh in reassurance. “I’m sorry, though. I’ll take you somewhere safe in the morning, get you set up.”

Cas nodded. “Thank you, Dean.” He turned the television back on and settled against the couch. 

At some point, Cas sleepily wound up leaning on Dean’s shoulder.

At some point, Dean sleepily wound up pulling Cas to his chest and stretching out across the couch. His friend's warmth was comforting, and Dean allowed himself to pretend that he could keep Cas here, just like this, always.

But when Dean woke around 6 a.m., the television was off, and his arms were cold.

He didn’t bother looking. He knew what he wouldn’t find. 

Dean trudged to his bedroom and carefully closed the door; the mechanical sound of the latch slotting into place struck Dean like a blow.

He sagged against the door before sliding to the floor. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his forehead against his knees. 

He couldn’t hold back his tears any longer, and he shook with silent sobs. 

+

Sometime later, he forced himself to get off the floor. He undressed, and when he pulled off his t-shirt, he caught a whiff of Cas’s smell – a light vanilla with a hint of something spicy. 

He crawled into bed and burrowed into his mattress, holding the shirt to his chest. 

He thought of Cas and wondered when he’d slipped out of the bunker, how far away he was by now, if he had money, if he was wearing his hex bag... 

Dean didn't need to wonder how badly Cas was feeling - that Cas had sneaked out before dawn said it all. 

Dean didn’t know how much time passed before Sam's fists beat a panicked cadence into the door. 

“Dean! Dean! Open up – ”

“I’m sick. Leave me alone,” Dean called out. 

Sam made a distressed noise. “It’s Cas –”

“I know,” Dean said. “He’s gone. Now leave me alone.”

He heard Sam shuffling around outside the door, and he guessed rightly that Sam was debating whether to break the door down or to beg Dean to let him in. 

But Dean couldn’t let him in. He wouldn't. This room was the only thing he had left.

“Go away, Sam,” he called out hoarsely. “I’m trying to sleep.” 

Sam said nothing, and a few moments later, Dean heard his brother slowly walk away. 

Dean pressed his face into the shirt, desperately breathing in that last vestige of Cas. 

Even though he knew that Cas couldn’t hear him, he prayed for forgiveness.

+


End file.
